


your death (it won't happen to you)

by rosewitchx



Series: "it's a hoot that you don't get why we need this." [27]
Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, Families of Choice, Father Figures, Gen, Injury, Minor Character Death, Multi, Peter Parker Lives, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, They all have issues, thats not a good start for the tags huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-19 01:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17591870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewitchx/pseuds/rosewitchx
Summary: they’re going to die.but then, suddenly, the prowler moves to intercept kingpin himself, and miles takes his shot: he picks up peter, almost effortlessly, and breaks into a sprint.“no,” peter whimpers. he can’t breathe. this is a mess. they’re both going to die.“i’ll get us out,” miles huffs out, and peter, half unconscious, barely registers this, “and then we’ll be okay.”--or, peter parker survives. some things never change.





	your death (it won't happen to you)

**Author's Note:**

> i finally finished this wooo  
> title: [i always wanna die (sometimes) - the 1975](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OGYOQYfeBn8)  
> i mostly got the drive to write this after watching [this video by exurb1a. watch it. please. you won't regret it. that's it, i think. i hope you like it.](https://youtu.be/7g1pmHSWHe0)

**peter and miles**

 

the thing is, peter’s life is great. and he knows it.

he loves mj. he loves his aunt. he loves his friends, his job. he loves, above all, being spider-man. he loves new york as he falls and then _thwip_ and then rises again. he loves the wind as he plummets to the earth and he loves the thrill of a good fight and he loves the sunset from the top of the empire state.

but sometimes, even after all that, this weird void in his chest will grow, and grow, and all he’ll want to do is crawl under his bedsheets and have mj tell him, in careful whispers, “we’ll get over this, and then we’ll be okay.”

and he’ll want to believe her, really, but he can barely make himself nod, or shake his head, or faintly hold her hand against his, so how can he be expected to believe they can pull this off? how can he believe, when he’s all alone in a world full of enemies?

those days pass. they always do.

 

peter will swing through new york again, and then they’ll be okay.

peter will beat all the bad guys, and then they’ll be okay.

peter will do this all alone, and then they’ll be okay.

 

“you destroy the collider, and then we’ll be okay,” he whispers to miles. it’s in a hurry, a faint rush, there’s not nearly enough time. he never thought he’d go like this. not with someone else watching, not burdening someone. no. not like this. he hasn’t said goodbye to mj yet, he hasn’t returned his aunt’s big pan yet, there’s so much he hasn’t done—

the kingpin looks down upon him. miles isn’t gone. miles is going to _die_ if he doesn’t move _now._

 

they’re going to die.

 

but then, suddenly, the prowler moves to intercept kingpin himself, and miles takes his shot: he picks up peter, almost effortlessly, and breaks into a sprint.

“no,” peter whimpers. he can’t breathe. this is a mess. they’re _both_ going to die.

“i’ll get us out,” miles huffs out, and peter, half unconscious, barely registers this, “and then we’ll be okay.”

peter feels the void as it approaches his very soul, wraps itself around his bones and lifts him by the throat. and all he wants to do is crawl under his bed and cry, but the best he can do for now is hold on tight to the kid saving him and pretend he wouldn’t have liked being dead.

 

later, he realizes, when he finally wakes up, he’s not alone anymore.

miles is like him, he realizes.

and then, maybe, they’ll be okay.

 

**miles and aaron**

 

his dad calls him. he’s barely even arrived at may parker’s house, barely had time to leave peter on the couch when his phone rings. he answers; he doesn’t have any other choice.

“dad?,” he says.

“ _miles,_ ” his dad says. he sounds relieved, but also… hurt. “ _miles, something happened. where are you?_ ”

 

his uncle aaron is dead.

 

sometimes, when miles had trouble at school, when everything became too much and he couldn’t handle it, when the emptiness pulled the wind from his lungs and broke his heart into pieces, he’d go to his uncle. he always knew what to do. they’d go out, eat some pizza, paint some walls, or maybe just stay inside, watch a movie and not talk at all, and then they’d be okay.

“miles,” he’d say, “one day, you’ll do great things, if you want to. one day, you’ll know what to do. and then you’ll be okay,” he’d say.

 

the prowler had looked at him. had looked directly at him while he yelled back at wilson fisk himself. had said nothing, _nothing,_ as he watched the kid sign off his own death sentence.

but when it’d counted, he’d moved to block the path, and miles had only thought one thing:

_i’ll get out, and then we’ll be okay._

 

he hadn’t thought about his uncle.

and now, he feels the void filling him again. he feels every spider in the house (not that many, to be fair) looking at him. he can tell their thoughts: they’re ashamed. embarrassed. they pity him.

but it’s okay, he tells himself. everything is so loud, but it’s okay. once peter wakes up again, he tells himself, they’ll figure it out, and then they’ll be okay.

 

he rubs his finger absentmindedly against the data drive peter had given him. they’ll destroy the collider, and then they’ll be okay.

the other spiders look at him. they do that a lot, he notices. the little girl in the robot watches him cry and holds his hand. the man in black looks at him and says, “it gets easier with time. you’ll get over it, and then you’ll be okay.” the pig hands him a napkin.

 

and nothing could ever ruin this, he thinks. he attends the funeral. he sobs, quietly. three spiders watch from a distance. the fourth won’t wake up until the next day.

 

but when he wakes up, miles thinks, they’ll destroy the collider, make kingpin pay, and _then_ they’ll be okay.

 

**peter b. and gwen**

 

the numbness hasn’t left peter in a long, long time.

it had crawled into his body, like he’d gotten sick one day and never really recovered, letting the poison slowly turn him to dust, and it just never left, made itself a home in the little crevices between his ribs.

it had been even before mj. _maybe that’s why she left_ , some part of his dumb brain says, and he knows that’s not the reason, hell _he_ was the one that left, but that doesn’t make it easier to ignore. _maybe she stopped loving you because she realized what you are. maybe she never loved you at all, she always did prefer harry over you, the little bastard that_ **_you_ ** _killed, just like you killed gwen, you fucking idiot_

 

it’s hard ignoring the numbness, because he knows, deep down, it’s right.

deep down he knows: he’s not really needed. not even as spider-man: new york already has the avengers and any number of super powered freaks.

he’s tired. peter is so fucking tired. there’s always something weighing him down and he can’t bring himself to try harder anymore. maybe his aunt may would’ve said, “ _it’ll pass, you’ll see, and then you’ll be okay,_ ” but his aunt may’s under six feet of snow in a graveyard that’s at least forty minutes from his shitty divorced-late-30s-man-with-no-money apartment. _because you couldn’t save her, moron._ it’s not true. she had cancer. _could’ve created the cure. you’re a genius and you wasted your talent fighting men in spandex and that’s why you lost everything and everyone you held dear_

 

_shut the fuck up,_ peter says to nobody.

 

things keep happening to him and he’s sucked into a portal in his ceiling and then suddenly he crashes against times square’s screen and also quite suddenly the numbness becomes a bit more bearable, pushed aside by panic. _can’t a man suffer in peace?,_ he asks nobody. then he sees it, on the giant billboard: spider-man himself, in critical condition. the news lady says he almost died.

this is definitely not his new york.

_could’ve been me,_ peter thinks. _should’ve been,_ the void replies, _not like anyone would’ve cared, look at him, he’s all perfect and all loved and all praised and everything you could never even dream to be_. he blinks away the thought as soon as he notices it.

he swings away before anyone notices the _old, out-of-shape, incredibly tired, jaded, clinically depressed and not-dead-but-god-he-sure-wishes-he-was_ alternate spider-man standing on the street.

 

he’s standing on a rooftop the next morning, watching the streets below him, unsure of what to do ( _definitely not thinking of mj, right? fucking loser. so hung up on your ex you can’t fucking move on even though it’s been months. creep. good job, spider-man!_ ) when he feels a strange sensation he’s never felt before.

he turns around just in time to spot her.

it’s another spider-person. she glances at him and even from the distance, something seems to click. it doesn’t make sense, but at the same time, it’s the _only_ thing that’s made sense in a long, long time. she motions towards a nearby building and swings away.

_great,_ he thinks. _don’t ruin this. she might be your ticket out of here. you ruin everything you touch, don’t forget that._

_fuck off,_ he thinks, and leaps off.

 

the spider-woman takes off her mask and it’s like he’s seen a ghost.

_it’s gwen,_ he realizes. _it’s her._

gwen looks different. younger, way younger. _almost as old as when you killed her,_ the void hisses. she looks tired. she looks at him like he’s a phantom, too, but neither of them mention it.

“we’re probably not the only ones here,” gwen says. “there’s got to be other spider-people around.”

“we should check then,” peter says.

“i’ve _been_ checking,” she glares, but there’s no malice behind that, not really. _she hates your guts._  “any ideas?”

 

aunt may opens the door. the dark screams, its tendrils wrapped around his every limb, _this was a mistake, leave, leave,_ but he can’t move. he’s frozen in place, it seems.

“peter?,” aunt may says. there’s noises inside the house. there’s already someone inside, some other better, worthier peter that deserves far more than he does.

still, he can’t help but deflate. she’s there. she’s standing there, just as lively as he’d remembered. “hey, aunt may.”

she holds him. he hasn’t been held in so long. he’d almost forgotten what it felt like. he can feel gwen staring at him, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“you two better come in,” aunt may says. “there’s a lot to explain.”

 

there’s a boy napping on the couch. his sneakers are by the coffee table. seriously, man? leave them by the door. jesus.

they’re careful not to disturb him, or to go upstairs. instead they go to the basement, inside the little shack in the backyard. _nothing like yours,_ the void says. _mediocre fuck._

 

aunt may explains to the spiders the situation, based on previous knowledge and miles’ (the kid’s name) information. peter doesn’t actually register most of it. he’s thinking of mj again, of gwen, of harry, of all his mistakes, and his hands tremble and he pinches at his wrists and _porker of all people notices_ and he’s always fucking up, isn’t he?

later, when gwen pulls him aside and asks if he’s okay, he has just enough energy to shake his head. “shit,” she mutters under her breath. he can feel the others looking at him. he can feel them, judging his every movement, and he really doesn’t need that, his own brain already does all the badmouthing, and peter can’t breathe, he can’t, it’s too much, _it’s always too much isn’t it? pathetic loser. kids were too much, weren’t they_ , stop, shut up, he can feel his throat tightening and the tears threatening to leak out and he can’t do this.

 

_you’ll never get to apologize,_ the void screams. _so just give up and die._

 

he crumbles.

but gwen kneels down next to him and holds his hand, grounds him. peter-noir takes off his mask and a greyscale reflection of himself looks at him in understanding; there’s that same fear, that same despair. peni comes close and hugs him gently; her whole body is shivering.

“we’ll get through this,” gwen says, “we’ll go back home, and then we’ll be okay.”

and peter can’t believe her, not at all, not really, but does he have any other choice, to be honest.

 

**gwen and peter**

 

“ _and then we’ll be okay,_ ” her peter used to tell her, when she felt down, when she felt the darkness crawling up on her, tangling itself around her limbs like spider webs. “ _and then we’ll be okay,_ ” he used to whisper, in the middle of the night.

it feels like ages ago, now.

 

“ _you’ll be okay,_ ” she’d told him, frantically, behind the spider-woman mask. “ _we’ll get through this, we’ll go back home, and then we’ll be okay._ ”

“ _i’m sorry,_ ” peter had said instead, bleeding out, barely breathing. “ _i just wanted to be like you._ ”

 

“we’ll get through this,” gwen says, “we’ll go back home, and then we’ll be okay.”

the peter in front of her just whispers “i’m sorry”, over and over again, and she can’t help but think back to her peter. this peter is old, broken, tired; (gwen can relate but) he makes her so mad.

_get up,_ she wants to snarl at him. _you’re alive, so get up. you’re surviving, so_ **_get up._ ** _you’re here when he isn’t, so_ **_get the fuck up._ **but she doesn’t say any of that. no, she doesn’t say anything. she holds his hand and holds him steady, she is the anchor. the lighthouse, the stone statue, the golden leader. she has to keep it together, if she yells he’ll break and shatter apart into a million little porcelain shards and she’ll be stuck with cleaning the mess.

and she doesn’t want that. she can’t handle that. so instead she’ll be the leader, and she’ll save everyone, and then they’ll be okay.

 

the peter from this world wakes up, and she’s the one keeping guard by his bedside when it happens.

he opens his eyes, groggily, and then looks at her. she’s not wearing her mask. she’s barely taken off her ballet shoes; there’s a wool sweater on top of her leotard, courtesy of aunt may, and that’s it. he looks at her like she’s a miracle, and she looks at him, and something seems to click. a feeling he’s never felt before, but one she has. it doesn’t make sense, but at the same time, it does.

his lips, dry, crack open and he moans. she’s by his side in an instant. “gwen?,” he croaks out. and then coughs. “fuck. i’m dead.”

“you’re not dead,” she says. he’s older than her peter ever was, but he’s equally stupid at times. this is enough proof. still, she has to stifle in laughter.

peter stares at her. then, “but _you’re_ dead.” and then, blurts out, his voice weaker, “ _i killed you,_ ” and there’s heavy bags under his exhausted eyes and her expression softens.

“i’m sure that’s not true,” she says. her mind inevitably wanders to her peter. peter, too good for his own good. she bites her lip and looks away. “you get some rest,” she tells him, getting up. “i’ll go get the others.”

peter doesn’t reply. when she looks back at him, he’s half-asleep already.

_don’t worry,_ she wants to tell him, as if it were some sort of lullaby, _we’ll kick ass, save the city, and then we’ll be okay._

but all she does is linger by the door for a moment, hold herself steady, and then leave. she is the anchor. the lighthouse, the stone statue, the golden leader. she has to keep it together, or else she’ll break and shatter apart into a million little porcelain shards.

and her peter isn’t there to clean the mess anymore.

so she leaves. heads to alchemax. retrieves the data they need. it’s fine, she decides.

she’ll save everyone, and then they’ll be okay.

 

**peni and peter benjamin**

 

the blonde peter walks down the stairs, supported by the wall. he doesn’t look a lot like her father. he’s, well, _blonde._ he doesn’t have the spark his father had. he doesn’t have the, the ugly rectangular glasses, or the lab coat.

he misses the last step and aunt may catches him just in time. “you should’ve stayed in bed,” she chides him.

 

she remembers her dad putting her back to bed one night. she’d been sick all day, and almost fell down the stairs. he’d carried her back up, tucked her in her bed, kissed her forehead, and said, “ _you get some rest, and then you’ll be okay._ ”

 

“but i have to help,” peter says. miles comes closer.

“dude, you’re not coming.” peter b. says. “we can handle it.”

peter b. doesn’t look like her father, either. he has the dark hair, sure, but he’s just too jaded. too bruised. his nose is slightly off, and his voice is all wrong, too.

“no, you don’t get it,” blondie insists. he looks like he’s trying not to wince as he shifts positions. “someone has to stay back to destroy the collider, and you guys need to go home.”

“i can do it,” miles chimes in. both peters look at him and say “ _no._ ” (blondie coughs. aunt may rubs his back. peni thinks of her aunt.) the kid deflates. “why not?”

“oh, jesus christ.” blondie looks at miles, an ancient pain behind his eyes. (he looks at him like her dad used to look at her. he has the darkness behind his eyes, just like her dad.) “miles, you’re not even _close_ to ready yet. i haven’t had a chance to teach you _anything_ and you’re not prepared for that. no, i’m going.”

“you’re in no fighting condition!,” peter b. says. “i’ll stay back. it’s fine.”

“if you stay you’ll _die._ ”

“and if you go, _you’ll_ die.”

“just let _me_ go!,” miles chimes in, upset. “let me make kingpin pay!”

“ _i said no!,_ ” say both peters.

 

peni leaves the room.

 

“ _let me help!,_ ” peni had shouted, that one night. “ _i’m not useless! there’s something wrong with sp//dr!_ ” her dad had scoffed; the lab coat discarded on the floor, the special pilot suit fitted tightly to his body. his dark hair was so messy. he hadn’t slept in days.

peni was nine.

“ _peni, i said no!,_ ” he’d yelled back. “ _it’s too dangerous! there’s no time to fix it!_ ”

“ _dad, please! wait!_ ” but he was already climbing into the cockpit, closing the lid; soon, he was bursting out of the hangar, swinging through the city.

her aunt may had held her close.

and then, hours later, the suit had crushed him alive.

 

“are you okay?,” asks noir. he’s followed her outside. she sits on the doorstep and sighs.

“yeah,” she says. “i just needed some air.”

“we’ll be okay,” he says. he sits next to her. she’s just noticed; he’s not wearing his mask. he takes off his hat.

he has dark hair but he’s not terribly ancient. his noise isn’t broken, but he still has the darkness behind his eyes. even in complete black and white, he looks just like her dad.

her eyes blur.

“i want to go home,” she says. “when i’m home, then i’ll be okay.”

noir doesn’t reply. but he pulls her close, and rubs her back, and she feels just a bit better, like before sp//dr became hers, like her dad’s there with her and everything will be alright.

 

she leans into him and hears him whisper, “we’ll fix the portal-thing, and then you’ll be okay.”

 

**peter benjamin and peter porker**

 

he places the little girl onto the bed, covering her with his coat, and sighs.

this wasn’t meant to happen. he was meant to be at home, he was meant to just continue life not knowing what color the sky was (blue) or what did it look like when his aunt may blushed (her cheeks turned a light rose, her body shook with joyful laughter) or what he might have looked like in another world (brown(?) hair, light eyes, the same tired soul). he was never meant for anything besides murder, rainy days, and the eternal twilight.

 

“suspenders, huh.”

he’s sitting on the couch. the sun’s already set, and he’s trying to _distract himself from the never ending void in his heart,_ to fix the strange colored cube he’d found. it’s proving to be… challenging.

he turns his head; there, next to him, the pig has nested himself into the couch’s dusty cushions as well.

“yes,” peter says. he looks at himself. it’s a miracle they’ve even stayed on for so long. “is there something wrong?”

“no,” ham replies. “well, besides this whole thing.”

peter nods. yeah, he gets it. “all this color is drivin’ me up the walls.”

“tell me about it. but it’s okay,” he says. “we just gotta help em’, and then we’ll be okay.”

“hm,” peter thinks. “i don’t know.” ham looks at him and waits. “things just don’t ever tend to go my way, friend.”

“i don’t think they ever go our way for our kind.”

they remain like that in silence for a while.

 

peter was never meant for sunlight, for color. he realizes this now. he was never meant for this. even now, the void tries to bite at him, tries to make him stumble; he looks at the eldest of them all, all broken pieces and jagged edges, and bites the insides of his cheeks. this wasn’t meant to happen. _you’re bad,_ the cold whispers. _you’re a being of darkness, you’re a creature of the night. you’re not meant for this,_ the twilight hisses, pulls at him.

and maybe it is right. maybe he really isn’t.

but he’s extremely selfish, and he’ll treasure this forever, no matter how much it kills him.

meanwhile, he’ll watch out. he’ll look out for the little spider, for his pig friend, for the broken man and the dancer. for the golden boy and his dazzling smile, and the one still learning the ropes.

he’ll protect them, and then they’ll all be okay.

 

“hey, kid. you wanna go web-swinging?”

miles looks up from the notebook he’s hunched upon. a quick glance at it tells noir enough: it’s so colorful it makes his head dizzy.

the kid’s eyes light up immediately. “you’d take me?”

“you need to learn, and your peter is still injured,” he says. “it’s only the basics.”

needless to say, they have a good time. the kid is promising. he’ll be okay, peter decides.

they’ll be okay.

 

**peter and peter b.**

 

peter pats at his side through the suit and winces. it still hurts. like a motherfucker.

they’re going tonight.

god, all he wants to do is crawl back into bed and cry. he wishes mj were here. he wishes it weren’t dangerous for her here, he wishes she could hold his hand and whisper sweet nothings at him.

he can’t pull this off. he can’t possibly pull this off. god, he’s so _tired_. it’s an ancient force, pulling down at his bones, tying him into the ground. he looks at the mirror; dark circles and half-healed cuts say hi.

“you okay?” peter flinches. there, at the doorstep, stands the older peter, and suddenly the weight upon his shoulders intensifies, as if he’s carrying not only his world, but multiple ones upon his shoulders. and in a way he is, isn’t he? and fuck, he doesn’t want it. he doesn’t want any of it.

“yeah,” he says. _i’ll die before i get to be your age,_ he wants to say. “yeah, i’m good.” _how did you make it this far? can you help me? please?_

“okay, uh, cool.”

the two peters stand there for a long moment, immobile. then, “you wanna, come in?”

 

it’s weird, peter thinks, to look at your mirror and see someone just slightly off. he looks at peter b. and sees his crooked nose, his five o’clock shadow, the way he avoids meeting his eyes.

they lay on what once was his bed. he remembers, ages ago, sleepovers with harry and gwen, studying for finals with mj. his stomach twists. “do you have an mj?”

the other peter shuffles. he hears him sigh, then say “i did”.

“i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay,” he says. “i didn’t want kids.”

“why not?”

peter b. glances at him, then chuckles. “god, you’re so young. this is your first scare, isn’t it?” peter nods. “it’s scary— i don’t want to leave a kid behind.”

peter thinks about it. “that’s dumb,” he says. “sorry.”

“don’t worry about it, i guess. why?”

“i just— you said it. these things _happen_ to us. why not make the most of it while we still have a chance?”

peter b. doesn’t reply. he just stares at the ceiling. peter decides to let it go, then, but _then_ he breaks the silence and says, “i think i’d be a bad father.”

“that makes more sense.”

“yeah, i guess so. i just—“ _i’m a mess,_ peter can almost hear him say, in that voice just a bit different from his own, _i’m a wreck, i’m a disaster, i’m worthless,_ and suddenly it just sounds like the thoughts yelling inside his own head. other peter sighs, rubs his face. “i don’t think i’d be any good for a kid. you know how it is. can’t even keep a job.”

“yeah,” peter says. “but still, i’d try. you never know… it’s a leap of faith, you know. you might even be okay after it all.”

“yeah.”

 

**peni and peter**

 

there’s a soft knock on the door. peter jolts awake and regrets it immediately; his side still hurts immensely. he yelps out in pain. peter b. is nowhere to be seen.  

“sorry,” peni apologizes, sheepishly. she’s standing by the doorframe, voice strangely quiet. “we’re leaving now.”

“oh,” peter murmurs. then he stands up. “alright, i’m up. let’s do this.”

he follows her into the dark.

 

he’ll stay and turn it off, they’ve decided, though peter b. wasn’t too happy about it. “it’s not like i haven’t fought injured before,” peter says. “i’ll be fine.”

miles won’t be around; he’s got the basics from the guys, yes, even a bit of combat training, but it’s not enough for what they have to do. he’s scared, he’s seeking revenge, and that will not do. miles is good, they decide, but not today. he’s not gonna be actively fighting if they can help it. ~~if anything happens to peter, he can do it. he can take over. it comforts peter, somehow. it’s the unspoken rule they’ve set up.~~

“here’s the goober,” peni says. he hadn’t realized he’d broken it during his initial attempt, but peni was already working on fixing it by the time he woke up. they’re all effective workers; peter guesses it’s just another spider-trait they have in common.

“thanks,” peter says, pockets the goober. “we gotta work fast once we get there.”

“yeah,” she agrees. “it’s gonna be tough.”

“nothing we can’t handle.” he smiles at her, pats her shoulder. he hopes he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels. “we’ve got this. we’ll kick ass, and then we’ll be okay.”

“will we?”

she looks at him like she’s seen a ghost.

“something wrong?,” he asks.

“no,” she says. “you just reminded me of someone.”

 

**mary jane**

 

_“you have three voice messages.”_

 

_“hey, mj. it’s pete. it’s been a couple crazy days, i know. i’m sorry i haven’t called. i just woke up a while ago. i’m sorry. i know may told you what happened, but i still wanted to call you myself. love you. i gotta figure this out, but i’ll be okay. i promise.”_

 

_“hey, mj. pete here. we’re gonna fight fisk tonight. hopefully everything will go as planned, but you know how it is. parker luck. haha… be safe, okay? i love you so much. it’s been so hard without you, I hope you can see this… see you tomorrow.”_

 

_“... hey, mj. this isn’t… your peter. i’m sorry. … this was a dumb idea. i’ll just go now.”_

 

**peter and fisk**

 

he drops to his knees, coughing. he wasn’t ready. fuck.

the kingpin towers above him, his every step sending the world vibrating around him. _no,_ he thinks. _this isn’t how it was meant to happen._

the goober is stored safely in his suit. the green button is too far away; everyone hasn’t even leapt away yet. they’re glitching more and more; soon, they’ll vanish, and they’ll _die,_ and it’ll all be peter’s fault. _fuck,_ he thinks.

he feels himself bleeding through his side again. the wound must’ve reopened, he realizes, swimming through the fog in his brain.

_get up,_ he orders himself. _you’re breathing, so_ **_get up._ ** _you’re alive, so_ **_get the fuck up._ ** but he can’t. _yes you can._ **_get the fuck up._ **

“you don’t know what i saw in there,” peter wheezes out when the man picks him up by his throat and squeezes lightly. “you don’t know what i know.”

“and what do you know,” kingpin humors him.

he feels the blood dripping down his torso, soaking his suit. he feels the kingpin’s cold hands, the incredible pain filling his every inch. he feels the void, the dark, wrapping itself around him, and suddenly it’s all too much, but he says it: he says it anyway.

“octavius is using you,” he manages to say. “it won’t work.”

there’s a flash of grief and then of rage on wilson fisk’s eyes, and then he’s launched across the room. and as he falls—

as he falls, he thinks, maybe there’s no good ending for this.

maybe— maybe there’s no way they survive.

(bitterly, selfishly, he thinks: he’s glad miles isn’t here.)

he’s three seconds from hitting the ground. everyone is glitching. scorpion breaks through sp//dr’s cockpit. gwen ducks behind barrels and tries not to scream.

maybe there’s no other way. maybe they won’t be okay.

he hits the ground and everything goes black.

 

and then—

there’s a loud crack through the room. like thunder during a bad storm.

peter wakes up with a start. next to him, older peter is looking into the distance, his mask’s lenses as wide as physically possible. “no way,” he says, softly.

 

the kingpin falls to the ground.

before impact, a web shoots out of nowhere and catches him, mere inches before the cold steel.

the kingpin looks stunned, confused. and, well, peter can’t say he isn’t, either.

and then a figure materializes out of thin air.

it’s another spider, they see. the suit is dark, sleek, spray-painted; they move like it’s second nature to them. they swing the way noir taught them. they sneak their small hands into peter’s suit, retrieving the goober without him even noticing ( _don’t watch the mouth, watch the hands!_ ). they go back up, twirling around with the grace of a dancer, the strength of a leader; they land on the ceiling as if the laws of physics don’t apply to them, and they go through peni’s interface like they made it themselves.

 

“miles,” peter breathes out, understanding dawning on him.

 

he’s a natural.

the next thing peter sees is peter b. hesitating.

“i’m gonna ruin it again,” he says. he thinks no one’s listening.

“you won’t,” peter replies, his throat hoarse.

“how do you know?”

“i don’t.”

“it’s a leap of faith, man!,” miles shouts from the panel. “you gotta go home!”

“oh,” peter b. says then, softly.

“come on, dude,” peter manages to grin, “when you get there, you’ll be okay.”

peter b. stares at him, then at the void of colors above them.

“i’ll be okay,” he breathes out.

and then he leaps up, into the vortex of light, and everything flashes golden for a moment.

 

there’s, eventually, a big explosion.

 

**peter and miles (ii)**

 

when peter wakes up again, he’s being carried somewhere else.

the arms carrying him, almost effortlessly, feel strangely familiar, but he doesn’t wanna open his eyes. there’s police sirens blaring around and camera flashes and everything is so loud and there’s paramedics around, they smell like disinfectant, and peter shies away from it all.

“it’s okay,” miles whispers anyway, so low only he can hear it. “we’re okay now.”

“no,” peter whimpers. he can’t breathe. this is a mess. he feels so cold. so tired. his side hurts. his entire being hurts, like he’s being crushed down by the kingpin, like his blood is blooming out of his chest.

“we are,” miles huffs out, and peter, in his dazed state, barely registers this, “we’re all okay.”

peter feels, yet again, the void. it’s an old friend, an even older enemy, and everything is too much, and all he wants to do is find mj and hold her tight and never let her go ever again, or miles, who’s done so much, whose heart is beating too fast which means he’s healing from injuries he should _not_ have, but all he can do is keep his eyes closed and hope that whatever miles is saying is true.

 

later, he realizes, when he finally wakes up, mj by his side, holding him together, he’s not alone anymore.

miles is like him, he realizes.

and then, maybe, he’s right.

they’re okay.

 

**the spiders**

 

it’s 1933, and peter benjamin enjoys a milkshake.

“you look different,” harold tells him, a small grin on his face. “happier. did things finally go your way, this time?”

peter shrugs. “i don’t think they ever go our way for our kind.” but there’s a certain playfulness behind his words, a lightness to his voice that hadn’t been there before. harry rests his head between his hands, softly. they remain like that in silence for a while.

then, peter pulls out a strange artifact, places it on the table. it’s like nothing harry’s ever seen before.

“what’s that?”

“a rubik’s cube,” peter says. “it’s a puzzle a friend gave me.”

“i’ve never seen anything quite like that.”

“me neither.” he thinks of ham, of peter and miles; they’d been all so strange. he’s seen far weirder than a cube made out of light. ”but i think i could solve it.”

“then i’d love to see it happen.”

harry holds his hand above the table. peter grins and sighs, content.

they’re okay.

 

it’s 3145, and peni parker is fixing sp//dr.

she waits for it to boot up, nudges at her spider to get in the god damn robot, and waits patiently.

in the coming days, she’ll work very hard. she wants to see them again, her family.

but for now, she settles for sp//dr, its backup memory, and all the photos of her spider friends.

her fingers trace the edges of peter’s face on sp//dr’s screen, and sighs, yearning. downstairs, her uncle ben is calling her for dinner.

“i’m coming!,” she shouts. she stands and leaves her room, a warm feeling in her chest.

she’s okay.

 

it’s 20:08, and gwen stacy stands in a rooftop, watching the sun set.

she scrolls through her instafot feed (whose idea was it to sort posts by newest first?) and thinks of her friends.

_her friends._ a couple weeks ago, she wouldn’t have dreamed of saying that. but now, she can’t imagine a world without them.

she misses them so badly.

her phone buzzes. she looks back down at it, through the rosy haze of the sunset, and reads:

_mj: u wanna hang out? were watching bad movies_

gwen takes a deep breath. hesitates.

she thinks of miles, of peni, of the peters. she is the anchor. the lighthouse, the stone statue, the golden leader. she has to keep it together, or else she’ll break and shatter apart into a million little porcelain shards.

then.

she doesn’t _have to._ she can rest, at least for a while. they’ve got her back, wherever they are now.

her fingers tremble as she finally, finally texts mj back.

_gwen: sure, ill swing by_

she pulls down her mask, a nervous smile tugging on it, and she leaps.

she’s okay.

 

porker looks at the super fast sunrise and stretches. another day, another dollar!  
(he misses the slow, calming sunrises of pete and miles’ world. he misses them so dearly.)

he walks over the edge of the building, waits - oh! - then looks down and falls.

he loves it.

he’s okay.

 

peter b. sleeps on mj’s couch.

well. he doesn’t sleep. he stares up, into the ceiling.

the numbness hasn’t left peter in a long, long time. not even after the collider, after his family. it made itself home inside his ribcage, told him it’d never leave.

but the cold and the void aren’t all there is, anymore.

he has a family, now, after all. he has peters, like him, and he has miles, and gwen, and peni; he has aunt may, and he has mary jane again. and his heart beats stronger. _and colder,_ the void says. _you know better. getting attached will hurt. they live dangerous lives, you dumb motherfucker,_ **_you_ ** _live a dangerous life, and besides, you’ll never see them again, so what’s the point? forget them._

it’s hard ignoring the numbness, because he knows, deep down, it’s probably right.

but he has to keep hoping. because he _has_ to see them again. and maybe he curls up in the couch, pulling his knees closer to his chest, but he feels comfort in the knowledge (yes, absolute certainty) that peni and the others will figure something out.

_or not._

_shut up,_ he says at the void.

he’s okay. and if he isn’t, well, he will be.

 

miles and peter land on the empire state’s peak, laughing. it’s exhilarating, finally going back to the streets of new york after weeks and weeks of recovery. and yes, actual good recovery; miles’ mom and aunt may wouldn’t have it any other way.

“feels good, doesn’t it?”

miles looks at him, probably smiling wildly under the mask. he did a good job, covering for him these past few days. ”it always has,” he says. it’s true. it’s like oxygen, for him; something he can’t imagine living without.

working together feels easy, natural, like it was always meant to be. miles is still catching up to a lot of things, has a lot to learn. peter isn’t alone anymore.

they mourn who they have to, together. they hold each other up. they laugh and learn and breathe.

they swing through new york, and they’re okay.

they beat all the bad guys, and they’re okay.

one day, peni will jump through a portal with their family, and they’ll laugh, and they’ll all look brighter, happier, and it’ll be wonderful.

but right now, as they feel the breeze against their bodies, they’re finally, for the first time in ages, okay.


End file.
